Smart Girl
by RhyannD
Summary: Pepper Potts is smart, or she used to be. Lately she finds her brain is not always what she is thinking with. First person reflections from Ironman (1). Short & complete. Not my characters or universe, though she demanded this one of me. (updated some typos and grammar.)


I'm a smart girl. At least, I was. Cum Laude degrees from exclusive, expensive Universities... a mind for numbers and names and dates. An invincible facility for bargain hunting, (though I stopped needing sales and outlets when I was promoted to Tony Stark's personal assistant.)

I think that is when my mind began its slow decay.

At first it was entertaining to 'manage up' the highest paid CEO in the country, the genius who could barely remember to feed himself some days. Then as I realized he truly trusted me, and actually needed me, it became more than just an outrageously paying babysitting job. The challenge of convincing Tony Stark to do _anything_ he did not want to do was persistent enough to keep the job interesting.

I did not mind 'taking out the trash' in the mornings, ever supercilious in my brisk efficiency. _They_ came and went, I remained. I never quite made the connection that Tony-Mr. Stark-actually respected my boundaries and treated me with courtesy. I was, perhaps, the only female within arm's reach that did not get inappropriate gropes or suggestive leers. He simply wouldn't dare.

Or maybe that was the beginning of losing my mind.

I distinctly remember the first time I felt disappointment when I was summoned to 'clean up' in the morning. It was not my place to judge his social life, so why was I peevish all of a sudden?

Because I had started to believe there was more to the man than... that.

I knew the things no one else knew. I knew when he heard of an employee in trouble, he would help, but in a way that would not trace back to him. One family's home burned, a community fundraiser for them came up with improbable results; a single Mom's car broke down, the mechanic suddenly found a recall on the entire transmission... it went on. But sometimes I think he even denied it to himself. He hated the idea that someone might think him kind.

On the other hand, he has the attention span of a fruit fly. I learned early on not to expect him to remember any sorts of dates or events, most especially ones that only occurred once a year like birthdays or anniversaries. It was harmless enough, certainly not personal.

At some point something changed. He stopped bringing home mindless women in designer dresses so often. Of course, he still _did_, but... was he actually learning a bit of discretion?

And that points to my lack of judgement and the slow degradation of my own rational thought processes. I thought I caught him looking at me differently. Often. Sometimes I would just get this... feeling. Like someone watching me, but not in a creepy-hair-at-the-back-of-your-neck-raising way, just... I don't know. And I would catch him. And the intensity would make something just under my heart clench. But then it was gone. More often than not, he'd raise an eyebrow at me in inquiry, and I would realize I was the one who had been staring. Imagining things. Hallucinating...

Maybe it is just my biological clock ticking. I mean, he's my boss. Sure, I noticed even before I worked for Stark Industries that he was an attractive man. Most men look good in tailored suits that expensive. But I hate goatees. Really. Except... his started to grow on me. Ug, and messy hair. Really? How hard is it to use a little product and comb it. The 'tousled' look is so... nineties. So... Joey from Friends.

But those eyes. When they are intense, they seem like they can burn right into your soul.

Most of the time when he smiles, it's fake. When the smile reaches those eyes... it is a sight to behold.

I don't like to think of the three months he was gone. Certainly I cannot have been expected to have been totally on my game when I lost so much sleep. At least I retained a modicum of sanity and got JARVIS to hide the security footage and logs which showed I stayed at the mansion all that time. It just made me feel, well, more hopeful. When everyone had given up, sometimes I could still... and this is ridiculous-this is what I'm talking about-sometimes I could still smell him, and believe he was OK.

And then he was! The night the call came, I didn't even think anything of it when it showed Rhodey at 03:32, I knew there was a time change, he knew I didn't sleep... But when I answered, and it was Tony, and he just said, "Hey, Pep," I was actually at a loss for words. Me.

I'm not proud of that night. After I hung up the phone, I had the oddest experience. It had to be the lack of sleep and the stress just catching up. I cried. I mean, I sobbed. I couldn't stop. It was the stupidest thing.

When he came back, he was different. Not just that thing in his chest... but different. He said things he had never said before. Like, "You're all I have." I took that wrong, of course. That's what I meant about the biological clock thing. I took it to heart. And it's like my brains just started disintegrating at that point.

When I ever saw him at the Ball, the way he was _looking_ at me... I hate my fair complexion. I can feel the blush starting at my chest and rising right up my throat... I know I turn bright tomato red when I am flustered. And boy was that look flustering.

I won't ever know what made him dance with me, it was wildly inappropriate. I mean, people KNOW his reputation. I am his Personal Assistant. I am-I _need_ to be-beyond reproach in that area. But then he put his hands on me. He touched my back. Stupid dress... oh, my, when he put his hand on my back... let's just say Miss Potts got the hots.

Ridiculous, right? I mean, then, when we went on the balcony, I almost kissed him! I almost _kissed _him. That would have ruined everything. Totally. How awkward.

I got mad-no, furious- when I saw him come home in the suit the first time. There were bullet holes. _Bullet holes_. Redheads don't just _get mad._ We blow a gasket. There is truth to the saying that our temper matches our hair. It was easier to be mad than scared. He was absolutely right, I'd caught him doing much worse things; this time he was actually being noble. And more of my grey matter became useless. Tony Stark was learning to be a hero.

Something changed again when I saw the videos from Afghanistan. I couldn't breathe my heart hurt so much. It was awful, the worst thing you could imagine. You see this stuff on TV, read about it in the news, but when it is someone you lo- someone you know, when it is REAL. Well, no wonder he locked himself away in his workshop and worked and worked on his suit. I mean, I knew he was _avoiding_ sleep too, at the time. I knew it was bad, but I had no idea... _oh, Tony..._

And then... honestly, the rest of that afternoon and night are kind of a blur. I remember bits and pieces of it so clearly, bright and sharp and can't NOT remember them, even when I don't want to... and yet so much of it is fragmented and dim, like time collapsed and expanded all at the same time. I was terrified; for myself for awhile there, but for Tony. Obadiah was just so... maniacal. I have never palpably felt hatred the way it radiated from him. And the suit he'd built, it was so huge...

I thought Tony was dead. And it was my fault. I pressed the button, I overloaded the reactor while he was still up there. My fault.

I died inside for a few minutes. He was so still, and the ARC reactor was dark. But when I got to him, he was still there, still hanging on. Thankfully he didn't see my tears this time. Or if he did, he didn't let on. When I kissed his forehead, it was just relief, you know? Sheer reaction. I mean, it was almost a motherly kiss. Sort of. What if he had died? He came so close to dying-how many times just this WEEK?

Anyway. There's a press conference about to start. I need to concentrate. It's hard to concentrate these days. So much has happened, so much has changed... Tony... Sigh. I help him on with his jacket. I love his cologne. I smooth the wrinkles over his shoulders and notice how broad they are, how much muscle he's put on.

And I curse my brain. I used to be a Mensa member for goodness sake. What happened? I was never so easily distracted by a pretty face and dark, intense eyes. I'm disgusted with myself.

Those eyes capture mine now. I'm trying to straighten his handkerchief, he is relentlessly distracting me, "If I were Iron Man, I'd have this girlfriend who knew my true identity. She'd be a wreck. She'd always be worrying I was going to die, yet so proud of the man I've become. She'd be wildly conflicted, which would only make her more crazy about me... "

Crazy. That's for sure. I used to be a smart girl.


End file.
